The Kingmakers(28)

“You’re in a house in town.” Anhalt settled the limp form of his empress onto a pillow and pulled a heavy blanket over her, immediately reminding her of how cold she had been. She melted into the soft warmth as her sirdar said, “Your Majesty, Grenoble is ours.”





GREYFRIAR PACED OUTSIDE the dilapidated building where Adele was recuperating. There was a distinct barrier that he could not cross. He dared step over the threshold again only to be repelled by a force of heat and pain. He retreated with a low growl.

The windows were without glass, and the Harmattan had boarded them up to protect the interior from the Alpine gales. Even so, he fancied he could still hear her heartbeat, and when the wind blew just right he caught the barest trace of her scent, a kaleidoscope of aromas, some indescribable.

Anhalt had walked inside over an hour ago, and Greyfriar found himself jealous of the man. Of course, the general had every right to sit with Adele; after all, he had been her protector for many years. But Greyfriar envied him because the general could do what he could not at this moment. The ground was still warm and he could feel it sapping his strength the longer he remained, but he didn’t give in to it.

Finally, the sirdar exited the building. Anhalt glanced at Greyfriar with a tinge of sympathy. The general walked over to stand beside the agitated swordsman and remarked, “The empress is fine, just worn out, as you can imagine. She’ll be as good as new in another day or so. You should get some sleep.”

“I’ll stay.”

“You’ve been here for more than a day already. You look a wreck. Even someone of your constitution can’t keep this up forever. You shouldn’t even be near here. Go get some rest. I’ll need you both at your best soon enough. When was the last time you fed?” Anhalt paused. “I mean ate.”

Greyfriar’s weary expression hardened. He didn’t realize his limitations showed.

Anhalt coughed and pressed on, his voice low. “There are countless refugees about. We still haven’t rounded up everyone. Surely someone will permit you…”

“It is too much of a risk to feed here with your troops about.”

“Then go elsewhere. Adele will be here when you get back. Perhaps by then you can walk straight in instead of hovering out here like some wraith.”

Greyfriar straightened with embarrassment, but then nodded. Anhalt had never laid down any ground rules on how he procured his meals, so long as it never came to the sirdar’s attention, meaning feeding from someone inside the main camp. Greyfriar was always as discreet as possible.

“Our rear lines are secure for now,” Anhalt said. “You must know the region well enough. You operated here, didn’t you?”

“Of course. I met Adele in the Rhone Valley.” Greyfriar said nothing more as memories stirred. He listened for any sign of Adele’s recovery, but she blatantly refused him. He took a last step toward her only to be thrust back. Finally he turned away. Anhalt laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder before the swordsman strode into the drifting snow.

Hours later Greyfriar hovered over the deserted town of Riez. The fields lay frozen and wasted, overgrown with the remnants of weeds and thistle. The tools of the farmers lay where they had fallen months ago. Every window was unlit, and there was no smell of smoke. The town was as dead as the night he had left it nearly a year ago. He pulled the cloth from his face and removed his reflective glasses.

Greyfriar had brought Adele here to take refuge after Flay’s packs had brought down the imperial flagship, Ptolemy. The townsfolk had trusted him, trusted the hero, and he had failed them. Failed Adele. Flay had slaughtered the entire town just to get the princess. Greyfriar had saved no one that day.

It seemed that he barely saved anyone lately. This war was made for what he had been centuries before. A monster, hungry for blood and glory. It was easy to kill. There was no finesse, no quarter given, merely violent death. The Greyfriar was not created for that. He wondered if saving a relative handful over the years justified all the effort. Maybe the costume offered hope to some, but he sensed the futility of a thin cape and simple sword when faced with the multitudes lost every day.

It was Adele who was made for modern times. There was no pretense in her. She was a true leader, capable of inspiring her people on the one hand and engaging in harsh political warfare on the other. Her nation moved as she did. She held great forces and huge populations in her hand, not simply a sword.

Gareth pushed open the broken door of the tavern where he had spent many nights with a simple farmer named Shepherd, who had been the closest thing Greyfriar had to a friend in this town. The farmer had welcomed them into Riez without fear, eager to help the fleeing couple that night. It had been his last act of kindness. Shepherd had no idea that he died helping a vampire.